The Spider's Web
by Sekah
Summary: Mr. Sakyo entered his students' lives without any warning. One of his pupils, Shuuichi Minamino, finds himself entangled in a dangerous game, trying to understand his mysterious paramour and his own mind. Pairing: Sakyo/Kurama.
1. Chapter 1

A.N.: This is only the prologue, but I'm sorry it's so short. This fic is dedicated to the fabulous Blueutopiah, and hopefully she'll enjoy it even though I'm still not sure how to go about the many, _many_ lemons I see coming. This is also my first attempt at first person point of view, and I'm eager to know how it turned out. Good? Bad? Anything I can improve on?

If this isn't enough, I'll write you a little side-fic to this, Blue. It'll probably be of their first meeting. I think I'll do that anyway, actually…

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><p>If only those girls would stop tittering and looking askance at Mr. Sakyo and me, this torment would be that much easier to bear. Teenage fantasies, when directed at oneself, are excruciating, especially when coupled with fluttered eyelashes and obsequious sighs. In fact, there's nothing I hate more than the way they keep looking over at him and I, pursing their lips and sizing us up, making alterations on us, imagining, no doubt, things that are only half as erotic as the truth. It's an uncomfortable feeling to be lusted after by such a large gaggle of geese—I hesitate to say 'girls,' as quite a few of the boys occasionally shoot me glances as if I were a hunk of raw, bloody meat, and them starving wolves—but no eye could ever be as piercing as that of my dear professor.<p>

_If only they knew how right their assumptions were,_ I thought sardonically. _If they all knew what the perfect Mr. Sakyo did after dark, they wouldn't find him so perfect._

That thought came with the barest touch of bitterness as I controlled my heartbeat and forcefully quashed a flinch. Sakyo paused by my desk to murmur in my ear, one strong, sinuous hand grasping the back of my chair, as if to intimidate me. And, in fact, that was what it was doing. Intimidating me. "Minamino-kun, I'm going to need to see you in my office after your clubs tonight. We have to discuss your most recent test score."

I blinked (rather theatrically, I admit) and smiled a bland, confused smile that I knew made his heart sing. I could hear a gasp from the girls who were close to me, and I know that this lunch period would be taken over by whispered conversations about the beautiful upper-classman and the handsome male teacher. I was annoyed at him. There was no need for that, to plant those kinds of seeds in people's heads.

I tried as hard as I could not to admire that smooth-shaven cheek, and failed, as I felt him exhale against my lips. His breath smelt of nothing so much as hard liquor. He was not a drinker, from what I could see, but whenever I got that hint of masculine brandy rolling off his tongue I felt a thrill and questioned my assumption all in one. He never acted drunk, at least. I made a point of ignoring the edge of the scar that enhanced, rather than inhibited, how attractive he was, almost cursing at the clumsy shudder that climbed up my lower back as I finally recognized the airy scent of his familiar cologne, and the threads of arousal that it brought.

Then the hand and arm lifted from behind my back, and I could see, even if no one else could, the way those hard lips twitched into a smile as Mr. Sakyo strode to the front of the classroom, once more busy with his actual job instead of tormenting his tender young students. I wouldn't be stupid enough to go to his office; the closet that Mr. Sakyo gave me keys for the first time we'd ever done this was a much better guess. The crowded teachers' room was no place for our sweaty trysts, and there was an entrance to the gymnasium, and with it, the showers, in that little closet. It had been carefully chosen, and I approved of the choice.

Torment indeed, to be taught by a man who can't rip your clothes off while he's teaching.

The day was significantly hazier than before Mr. Sakyo and I started our circuitous little discussion… what exactly were we doing? Fucking? Not going out, certainly. I went from class to class, bored by the subjects, content, and all the teachers but one. I admired Sakyo, even if I didn't like him, and it was always a pleasure to see him take apart bad logic, which he did, occasionally, when we were alone. I went to the literature club, and rolled my eyes at the way the other students griped about the book they'd chosen; then stalked to soccer practice, sick of the rumors my concerned friends had been relating to me all day. I mean, the rumors were true, if outlandish, but that didn't stop them from being annoying.

I tried to work on seeming worn out and tired for a reason to fake the resistance Mr. Sakyo loves so well. To be honest, on a certain level my legs do ache. That was one of Sakyo's first commands, that I take care of my body and keep in shape. His second was that I call him Mr. Sakyo at all times, including in the closet our forays occurred in. Condescending ass. I hope he grows into one of those ugly, fat old men when he reaches middle age, the kind that no one can stand to be with. It doesn't seem likely, though. At forty-something he's got a body like a coiled spring, even tighter and better toned than mine. That was one of the reasons I agreed to that prerequisite; I didn't want to get a little tubby and lose him. The definition that's been added to my muscles is an added plus.

I know what anyone who learns about this relationship will say, but the truth is I'm under no illusions. He doesn't give a damn about me. I'm a play toy, a trophy, a bedbug to be used, abused, and then discarded with no feeling or kindness. That was why he was brazen enough to invite me during class; he feels secure. I should get myself a therapist, though, because strangely enough, I don't mind.

Though that would also be the first thing people would think, it's not simpering or romantic on my end or his. I'm not in love with him. If anything, I secretly hate him for the arrogant way he treats me. Nailing down my reasoning for not phoning up the police and playing the doe-eyed, dew-fresh virgin is something even I can't do, though I think it has a great deal to do with the way he's added a certain level of intrigue and excitement into my life.

If we do get caught, despite our precautions and both our sly, slippery natures, I already have a thousand reasons lined up, a thousand instances to point to, all false, and all saying that I'm the helpless student victimized by my teacher, forced to perform sick sexual acts by an ephebophilic monster who preys on innocence. In this case, though, it isn't true. Well… partially. Part of it isn't true. Don't get me wrong, in just about every other case like this you'll find that's the long and short of it—and I, knowing adolescent psychology, have already decided that if he tries to do this to another student, more than jealousy will make me turn him in—but I want this. In the end, I'm intelligent enough to lead him on as much as he leads me.

Waiting, anticipating, tasting the fresh, dewy rose as it settles against my lips; you could almost make a poem out of it, like an ancient member of the Heian court. The rose, which will complement his lovely hair, his pretty eyes, runs easily through my fingers, as easily as little Shuuichi himself: and I wait.

I'm still fully clothed, which is a shame, sitting in my chair and anticipating the moment my toy arrives, pretending to be more tired than he is, staring at me with heavy-lidded eyes as his mask drops and the slutty little nymphomaniac he is shines through. I enjoy his willingness and his games more than he thinks—but he underestimates me.

I'm not the type to be appeased by another's wants and needs, nor what they wish to do or not. I'll play the part well enough, sweep him off his feet and let him think he doesn't love me, but in the end I'm using him. He knows that much, clever boy, but he doesn't know how much, or how deep my plans run. I tease my lips with the flower in my hand, smiling to myself. Whether he wants me or not—and I already know there'll be a day when he doesn't want me.

I'm a connoisseur of beauty, and this boy is the shining ruby of my collection. Shuuichi, known to his friends as "Kurama," is something I never thought I'd see, something I know I'll never replicate. My old acquaintance Karasu thinks I should simply take him, threaten something he holds dear (that ailing mother, perhaps?) and force myself on him, delight in that game.

I'm more intelligent, more decisive, more patient, and certainly farther thinking than Karasu. My course of action is chosen: I'll mold him to my will with gentle care, watching his beauty and hope deplete with age as I hem him in from every side, obliquely crushing every one of his dreams. I came to work at this school because I saw his picture, though he'll never know it—I saw his picture, heard his name, and listened to the rumors of his remarkable intelligence. He thinks this relationship, if you could call it that, is somehow equal in all its skewed glory.

How very wrong of him. He has not yet begun to know the monster I am, the tastes I engage in. He won't be so open and naïve when that comes to light.

We'll see.

_To be continued._


	2. Chapter 2

his chapter is more like a side-fic than part of the main plot. This is the instance of Mr. Sakyo and Shuuichi-kun's first encounter: very slick and sweaty, and very light on characterization. If you're reading this fic for the mindfuck instead of the sex, this chapter is almost pointless [unless you look deeper into it than you'll have to for later chapters].

Blue, I think this counts as your real birthday present. Enjoy.

"And what, precisely, would a teacher want with his student in the dead of night, and in such a desolate corner of the school?"

The smirk that darkened Mr. Sakyo's face widened significantly, and a light went on in his eyes, as if someone had flicked a switch in an interrogation room. I was on fire. Blue ice and dry wit, promising a mind-blowing blend of perversion and seduction, were setting me on fire, and I could only just control my overexcited nether regions. Part of me wanted to pounce him, but on further reflection I decided to let him make the first move.

Mr. Sakyo (though by this point, I think, I should be allowed to refer to him simply as Sakyo) rubbed his chin speculatively, his almost immaculately shaven cheek letting out a soft rasp as his calloused hands caught on the stubs of hairs that could never be properly banished. Sakyo's expression was amused, and so like that of an epicurean faced with a rare and sumptuous dish. The dull glimmer that shone on his face sent ecstatic shivers down my body, all of which centered pleasantly between my thighs.

"I think," he murmured, his voice smooth and academic, as if he was discussing the genus of a certain species of plant instead of the debauchery of his young student, "that you know exactly what I want. You're trying to play with me." My eyes followed those lips as they moved, traced the scar that marred the right side of his face, and finally settled on the short black crop of his hair, all of which were merely a respite from his frozen eyes. "But I, in turn, am trying to play with you, so I'll condone your attempts." His wide smirk stretched further, until it was almost a leer, and then he got up gracefully from his desk and started walking towards me, his patent-leather shoes, polished to a shine, clicking idly against the floor.

The ghosts of our forms were mirrored on the glass partitions that surrounded the room, creating an eerie likeness of the two of us: me, Eve with the apple, and him, Adam come to take it. But it was the scorching look in his eyes, like the blue flames at the heart of a gas burner, which scared me and seared me from my top to my bottom. I was caught in one place. I had neither the ability nor the determination to move. It was true that I'd made overtures to Mr. Sakyo, thinking it amusing to carry out an affair with a teacher, but now, as he prowled towards me, each step as sinuous, slow, and decisive as the one before it, I was frightened. I'd only just begun to realize that I'd met more than my match in Mr. Sakyo. Even as I felt fear begin to deregulate my breathing and quicken my heart, a thrill went up my spine. Thank god, I thought.

And then he was there.

I felt his strong hand against my cheek, tilting my head up, and I smiled my usual reserved smile, pulling my lips into the proper shape and allowing my eyes to twinkle. For one moment, I wasn't sure how to progress: but my instincts and my hormones made the choice for me. My cock, a symptom of the disease that was creating a conflagration in all my nerves, was inadvertently growing and hardening under the promise of what came next.

My decision rang in my head, accompanied with worried pangs and the crash of arousal and cymbals. I reached down and forward, fighting against my own instincts, and grasped his center, my smile turning challenging as I stared right into his lascivious, sink-hole grin. Breath eased out of my nostrils as I felt how big and firm he was, so much more impressive than myself, and the way he responded to my adept touch with a quick welcoming twitch. I gasped, pleasure streaming down my body, as the hand not on my face reached around to slide down the pressed cotton of my uniform, pausing at my ass to grab it, knead it, and slip beneath the elastic to fondle me. The smooth skin back there pleased him, if his forceful snort was any indication, and his other hand caressed my neck with feather-light touches. I let out a soft moan, both hands still stimulating and rubbing his ever-increasing erection through the cloth, putting skillful pressure on his crotch with my palms even as he kept my head tilted up and continued to molest me. Pleasant tingles crawled up and down my body at the almost predatory expression on his face. I closed my eyes and opened my mouth, silently begging for a kiss, a request that he neither missed nor disappointed.

He tasted like vodka, I thought blearily, and then I was being laid bare by hard lips and a commanding tongue. I'd never been kissed like this before, so strong, so flavorful, with every bit of myself ripped open and placed on display for his personal amusement. I think there wasn't an inch of my mouth that wasn't perused or laid to waste as I feebly reciprocated and acquiesced with my own gentle tongue, all my artifice falling away under his skill. I tried to breathe, and found that my hands were no longer on his cock, but fisted in the formerly neat suit as I rubbed my body against his impatiently. I clawed at him and began to struggle, needing so desperately to take in breaths he wasn't allowing me. Finally he broke the dominated kiss, and stepped back with a low, delectable sigh. One of my stunned hands reached up to trace my abused lips, feeling how tender and reddened they were. I stared up at him wide-eyed.

"Did you enjoy that?" He murmured, his voice so much deeper than mine, though still just a titch higher and smoother than most men's, and heavy and thick with arousal.

"Oh, yes," I replied, or rather gasped, feeling the hand in my pants pull up and brace me as I tottered. This was pathetic. I couldn't even stand up to a little kiss? In the moment that accompanied that thought, I had my final epiphany, and made a decision that seemed at the time like the most important and dangerous I'd ever made in my life. "What would you like from me, teacher?" I murmured, collecting myself with quick determination.

He sighed again, his cock becoming even more noticeable as I glanced down at it. I sank nimbly to my knees, using his ever-so-slightly rumpled suit-coat as a balance to stop me from hurting myself. I lowered my eyes demurely, and leaned forward to nuzzle his crotch, putting on a show for him, before I leaned back and smiled coyly.

"Do you want me to do the oral portion of the exam?" The joke seemed somehow out of place, yet that only made me want to continue it more. "Should I go to the locker room and change, dear teacher?"

He was chuckling, but when I unzipped my school pants and brought them down the backs of my thighs, the underwear following soon after in a gran reveal, his laughter trailed off to a soft hum.

"How very pretty your cock is, Minamino-kun." He said lightly. There was something terribly wrong and exciting about playing student/teacher; especially, I was discovering, when the location of your tryst was a classroom, and you really were student and teacher. "And how very charming your euphemisms. I think we can dispense with them, however."

He walked forward, and put his hands through my hair, massaging my scalp a little in a soothing gesture and letting me make the first move, his pelvis about even with my face. I wasted no time.

The metallic taste of the buttons to his pants, the tails of his black coat parting to either side of me, were much more arousing than I thought they'd be. There was a spicy scent in my nose, some sort of cologne, which entwined inseparably in my subconscious with arousal and sexuality. The buttons were short work to my dexterous mouth, and then I carefully bit the crotch and dragged the pants down. My fingers easily deprived him of the simple men's underwear I found beneath, and I enjoyed the musk of pubic hair and the smell of a man that clung to him. His hands continued to run through my hair.

I started at the balls, licking them adroitly, lathering them up, letting him feel gentle, suckling pleasure from my talented orifice. The shaft dipped and bobbed, huge and needy in front of me, but I just focused my attention on his testicles. I could feel his harsh breathing increase drastically as I licked him, my own cock straining against the cool, crisp air for some sort of stimulation. I could feel the pebbles of my nipples restrained and stimulated by the cheapened weave of my uniform, and finally reached up, angled the shaft downwards, and took it into my mouth.

It was hot, and huge, and pulsating with joy as I slowly swallowed around it until it was all the way in my throat. The hands in my hair fisted, and I kept swallowing until my nose was thrust into the heavy scent of his wiry black pubic hair.

I used my tongue wholeheartedly, sucking and bobbing, pulling out so I could breathe and then re-swallowing briskly. He was panting like an animal above me, but I was focused on my new favorite part of his body and how needy it was, sitting stretched in my mouth. I let go of the base of the shaft to fondle the balls, knowing that they were often more sensitive than the shaft or even the head, while my other hand reached down to my smaller, yet equally needy erection.

As I swirled my tongue along the head and then swallowed, I heard his deeply provoking voice say, "You're quite good at this, aren't you?"

I smiled around his cock and just focused on the movement and the frenzy we were both in. I gave my straining erection a harsh squeeze while I moved my hand up and down it, and nearly choked on his dick as I gasped and arched involuntarily.

This feels incredible, I thought, and then suddenly a hand was pushing my forehead and the cock was receding.

"Get up, Shuuichi-kun. I'm being much too selfish at the moment."

His voice, objectively, was sinister and false, but I was beyond caring when faced with the promise he was giving me. My eyes were heavy with lust as I arose, my pants falling the rest of the way down my shins before I stepped out of them entirely, the white tails of my undershirt lifted by my anything-but-flagging erection. I was immediately dragged into another scorching kiss.

A sudden, strong embrace pressed my body against his and caused me to whimper, my skin feeling highly sensitized. The contact brought me more up and hard than I'd ever been before at any time in my life, or in any other sexual situation. His hand hooked around my back and down, grabbing one of my buttocks with a forceful motion. I was guided over to his teacher's desk, my head in a cloud, and leaned against it, all the books and papers mussed by my sweaty body. I reminded him of that between my panting breaths, and he pulled me up and swept them away, onto the floor. He leaned me down again and told me to get comfortable, his voice heavily ironic. I shook and moaned, choosing to grasp the end of the desk, and then something amazing happened.

His body receded, and I, knowing that soon my mind would be boggling, relaxed and allowed my teacher to have his way with me, whatever that way would be. I almost yelped when I felt something hot and wet at my backside. I wondered at first if he'd just licked his finger, but then it entered me and curled into my sweet spot and I knew exactly what it was.

I put my fingers in my mouth and bit, tasting salt and sweat as I was rimmed beyond any belief. He only moved his tongue a little, but the heat and the texture and the stimulation was enough to drag high-pitched sounds, almost gasps out of my throat. I bucked and thrust myself back unknowingly on the mouth that pleased me, before something longer and thinner replaced it, lubricated only by the saliva that his tongue left. The mouth and tongue were far from finished, though.

As his finger curled into my sweet spot, and pre-cum dripped from my horribly erect penis, his mouth rained little, fiery kisses on my base and balls. I was shaking. I was mindless. I was going insane with the pleasure and heat, and I never wanted it to stop as my own hand reached down to stimulate my head. The finger, grandly, relentlessly, kept moving.

"No. Play with your nipples, Shuuichi-kun." His voice commanded, and, with a quick smirk on my face, I acquiesced. My cock got fuller and tighter, and tighter still, and I wanted stimulation on it enough that I felt I'd do anything in the world to get it. I was truly mindless, but I had enough presence left to brace myself with one hand while the other reached into my still-buttoned uniform and undershirt to pinch and pull and cruelly twist my nipples, one at a time, until they both stood puckered and hard. I writhed and jerked and thrust myself into the desk slightly, nearly in tears from the need for more, just more, even beyond caring that the edge of it hurt my cock.

"S-Sakyo…" I finally managed, having put the sentence together in my mind before I was able to let it come out.

"Yes, Shuuichi-kun?" he asked, his voice so seductive when it was thick and full of lust that I wanted this even more, if that were possible.

"S-S-S…" the good start was ruined as my voice twisted into a soft 'oooh,' at the way his finger twisted inside me.

"Mm?" He sounded amused, and I cursed him for being able to control the fact that he was so aroused when I could not.

"Stop teasing me!" I finally managed to exclaim passionately, hating myself for this show of weakness, but knowing he'd keep me on the brink of coming until I said it or something like it.

The finger left, and the mouth stilled. For one second there was nothing, and I was afraid I'd angered him; but then I felt his legs and hips and cock against my back, his hands on my own hips, and his body leaning against mine.

"Promise me," he said, his voice laced with excitement and something else, something highly selfish and possessive that I couldn't place, and, in fact, had never encountered before, "that you will stay physically fit for as long as I want you to."

"Y-yes…"

"And that you'll call me Mr. Sakyo, no matter where we are."

"Oh, Sakyo, yes, just…!" I yelped as he moved to the side and smacked my ass, so suddenly, and so hard that I nearly screamed, the sweet on it causing his hand to stick for a second. I felt my cock twitch and grow impossibly longer and redder in response to it.

"Mr. Sakyo, please, please!" I begged, willing in that moment to do anything necessary for the gratification I craved.

"Good boy. Here's your reward." There was something violent in the way he said it, something hungry, something that brought the fear back into my heart and mind; but it was too late. His sex was pressing against my hole, and I could only hope that the tonguing from before was enough to lubricate me.

And then he was inside, and I was twisting, moving, shrieking (good thing it was two o'clock in the morning, really), arching my back and impaling myself on his thick, hot, perfect cock. I was aware of his grunts in my ear and his sports jacket rasping against my back as I my shaft was fisted by a strong hand, and my ass was fucked by a big, hard cock, and my nipples were stimulated by fingers reaching up under my uniform, until my mind was just one blurry white-hot sheet of pleasure.

I came before he did, shooting my seed onto his desk and the smooth leather grade book he hadn't quite knocked off. As my muscles tightened, his cock twitched inside of me, and then I was being pumped full of hot, heavy cum. I slid down the desk and to the ground, feeling entirely spent in the most wonderful of ways.

I felt arms, safe and secure, lift me up and carry me away to the teachers' shower, though I was barely aware of it. Something warm and gentle fluttered in my chest, and I opened my eyes and smiled up at Mr. Sakyo, post-coital bliss able to lower even my sterling defenses. And if, when remembering this later, my mind would always go to the cold, involved, focused look in his eyes, an almost cruel, almost heartless look, that was of no consequence. For now, I was just glad to have a lover with enough class to sex me into a coma and then clean me off afterwards. Or so, at least, I told myself.

I wonder if he'd agree?

To be continued.


	3. Chapter 3

A.N.: I'm going to try and go in several different directions with this plot, so hopefully it'll all work out well in the end [though maybe 'well' is the wrong word to use for a story as dark as this]. Wish me luck!

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><p>The moon's owl eye winked down at me from the arch of the firmament, its edges caught and folded by the clouds. As I glanced at the spectacle through my window, my ears picked up mother's wracking cough from a few doors down. When I caught a glimpse of the hands of my father's silver watch, my face twitched slightly, and I began to spin the pencil between my fingers nervously. I was both aware and frightened of what would happen next.<p>

Like clockwork, my secret began, exactly as it had happened countless times before. At first it was just a fizzing in the back of my head, soft and insidious, adjusting my consciousness to its unfamiliar pattern. It got louder and more deafening, however, quickly causing my ears to ring unpleasantly: though logically my ears couldn't be picking up the sounds, as their maker had no corporeal presence that I could determine. The whole extended affair finally solidified into a voice, which wove in and out, sounding a bit like a radio being tuned. This time I didn't fight, but allowed it to augment without resistance. I only got up to lock my door, before striding over to the bed in an attempt to await my visitor.

When the voice, a man this time, was finally existent enough to form real words, I winced and plucked at my pants' leg in stifled terror. He (it?) launched surely into conversation, wasting no time with pleasantries or meaningless etiquette. "That teacher of yours is going to hurt you in the end. I don't know why you indulge him."

"Why are you in my head? No, more importantly, what are you? Answer me, for once. Have I gone mad? Are you a hallucination, friend?"

"Such questions!" The voice murmured, deeper and smoother than I thought it was possible to be, commanding and imposing without the deficits of being booming or brassy. It was unlike that of any man's I'd ever heard, and yet still very cultured, thrumming through my body in a way none of the others had before. For a second, I thought I felt a flash of white—felt it more than saw it—as the voice spoke. "You may call me Youko, for lack of a better name. It's a pleasure to see you again, little Shuuichi."

I snorted, disdainful of him, as I was disdainful of every unreasonable bit of my imagination that had come through here before. "They all say that. They all claim to have known me at some point—some of them are saddened by it, some of them are enraged with me, and there's the one…" When I reached the words 'the one,' the confident, arrogant inflection of my voice faltered subtly. At the very least, I knew he wouldn't be shocked by my fear. He was inside me, after all.

"The one?"

"The one that wants to kill me, the one that whispers in my ear at night." I clarify, refusing to allow my voice to trail off, though it quieted against my will at the remembrance of that chilling, frightening one. My dander rose instantly, however, at the false note of this Youko's tone and line of questioning. Obviously my psyche was lying to me if it claimed not to know things it undoubtedly did. It was that, or I was crazy. Only a madman's head-voices wouldn't know enough about each other to carry on a conversation on the subject.

"Ah, yes. He's near you already, or I'd tell you his name. You needn't be afraid of him—at least not here, in this world. There are people you need to be afraid of in this, too, but not him. Not yet, at least. Give him a little while to collect himself."

I lapsed into silence, understanding what he'd meant when he'd mentioned 'people you need to be afraid of,' and resenting it, even as my head rung with the force of his words. I tried to keep up with the conversation as best I could, though in some ways it was a lost cause. Disbelief clouded my ability to think and hear, creating a non-zone in which I couldn't quite comprehend what he was saying.

Finally, aided by the pause Youko allowed me, I was able to respond with uncharacteristic sarcasm, something I hadn't yet used with these nighttime visitors. This one, Youko, seemed strangely familiar in a very pleasant way, and stirred thoughts and emotions in me that were much like those of Mr. Sakyo's doing. He's probably a manifestation of my sexuality, I thought, and almost laughed. "Well, disembodied voice, lovely as this has been, and it has been lovely…"

Youko chuckled, c overriding my decisions and cutting me off with the firm intonation of his laughter. "You're the same as ever, I see. Still rash and hardheaded as a boar demon beneath your intelligence, and always so quick to ally yourself with the losing side. Wait, now." His tone suddenly changed into a more scholastic one, and he articulated his next words as one would a bedtime story for a child about to be tucked in to sleep. It wasn't a tone that inspired faith in me. "They've authorized me to give you a little more information, so pay careful attention, child, and this whole thing will become clearer. I'll begin in the middle. Once upon a child's story, there was a world."

"Was there really?"

"Calm down and just listen, for once; but yes, there was. I suppose you could call it an arch-world. And in that arch-world, there was a boy—a boy beautiful enough to attract the attention of many admirers. He was made that way because of a certain fox spirit who lived inside him." If Shuuichi didn't know better, he would have thought that there was an edge of self-satisfied pride in the sepulchral voice as it pronounced that line. "The boy was important; he was one of a small group of heroes who were, cliché as it may seem, 'destined to save the world,' or something equally nonsensical. At this point in the story we lose our protagonist: the boy, you see, was killed."

My skepticism was acting up, to put it lightly, and it was almost entirely from a wish to hear the rest of this fantastic story my subconscious had been cooking for who knows how long, no doubt aided by childhood books and anime, that I replied, "Killed?" I was trying to test my psyche, praying that this whole shenanigan made little enough sense that it would break my psychosis. The voice kept flowing, though, ever onward, the wheels of the obviously schizophrenic vision turning with ghostly accuracy and an almost human inflection.

"Yes, prematurely, whether you believe it or not. This boy was killed, and what a shame it was. An awful death, too—to the point that the next character I'll introduce was actually born jaded from the horror in which the first boy lived. To protect him, you see, a surrogate in a different world was born, and many people who had originally surrounded the first boy showed up in different forms around the second."

"Am I to extrapolate that the boy we're discussing is me?"

"Perhaps, little Shuuichi, perhaps. He has some of your features. When this boy, the second one, was born," he continued abruptly, as though galvanized by an outside force, "he started to repeat many of the mistakes and tribulations the first boy did. Are you following?"

"Hardly."

The voice laughed. "Really, Shuuichi, you're always too much. That's all I'm allowed to disclose, for now. And about that teacher of yours…"

"Mr. Sakyo is no business of any ghostly persons entering my bedroom and violating my mind at night. Kindly return to whichever part of my brain you came from, auditory hallucination."

"You'll break Yusuke's heart, child." He didn't sound displeased by it. Then the radio fizzed and quieted, and he was gone.

—–

The visions had only started a month ago, when my mother's illness had taken a turn for the worse. Rather like my affair with Mr. Sakyo, which had actually begun before this supposed illness's onset (and had doubtlessly precipitated my decent into madness), no one knew about it. This was, in fact, the better-kept secret of the two, because I certainly didn't want to end up in a mental hospital.

The actual events of the thing (the person's voice, what he'd said, that it had even happened at all) were always buried in the course of the day, and by the time even the second or third class had come around, all the details had faded to the point that there were times, many of them, that I was unaware that I might soon be diagnosed with a hearty case of psychosis: either schizophrenic or schizoaffected or psychotic depression or one of those oh-so-amusing alternative disorders. And that was not to mention the other fun side effects that could be caused by any one of those disorders or their treatment and medication. In the end, it was just a question of ignoring any insane, paranoid plots against me my mind was entertaining, and focusing my attentions on Mr. Sakyo. That was certainly the better choice for everyone.

And tonight, I desperately wanted to focus on my dear, lecherous teacher. I'd had another invitation, this one much more dangerous and dire than the others, and thus infinitely more fun. Mr. Sakyo's house, it turns out (his new one, at least—it seemed he'd moved there just recently), was only a few blocks from mine, and tonight we were going to try some things that, in his own words, 'were going to need a level of privacy the school could never provide.'

I banished the ghosts and demons from my mind, and put the finishing touches on my homework, marking the answer to the last problem with an unnecessary flourish. Annoyed with the workload I was expected to complete for the highest classes of the best school in the greater Tokyo area, I put my books together and carefully organized my briefcase, wishing mother an early goodnight as I passed her room, heading down the stairs to put all my things by the door.

Once I'd come up, feeling intolerably guilty that she was too ill to move and yet I was leaving her alone with the night nurse, I went back down again, trying to pretend I was making myself some dinner when I was actually just puttering around in the kitchen. In the end I came up with some food for her as well. A quick turn into her door and a lot of internal sighs later, I clattered around the bathroom as though I were going through my toilette and getting ready to sleep. Finally, I went into my room and closed off all the lights, rustling my sheets as though I had just gotten between them, and was there to stay. I opened my window, once again hoping that this would be close enough to the norm on a chilly autumn night not to attract attention, and then rustled the sheets again.

Truthfully, I was nervous, though I'd never show it in any company. Part of me considered brushing Mr. Sakyo off and just going to sleep, but tonight was a night for mystery, and the unexpected within the expected certainly counted as mysterious. In the end I had to go. I had already stacked some warm clothes into my closet, and I changed into these surreptitiously as I waited. Finally, when the coast seemed clear, I snuck out the window (closing it behind me), down the tree, and was gone.

—-

The wind was cold as it whistled through my bones, barking, suburban dogs irritating me as they made their noisy testaments to the faded background of the satin sky. Mr. Sakyo answered the door in seconds, obviously wanting to halt the spread of rumors by night-owl neighbors as he fisted the crook of my arm and dragged me in. I felt the scratch of his chin and cheek as he kissed me brutally, the door clicking into its catch behind me, muffling the darkness. I reflected blearily on the way each kiss Sakyo gave me was so different, and much better, infinitely better, than the one before it.

Sakyo seemed impatient, and tasted of something new: the acrid, overpowering tang of tobacco, mixed with an even stronger flavor of liquor. "So he is a drinker," I thought, dueling hotly with my tongue as my hurrying fingers stumbled over his buttons. His masculinity and haste were much more arousing than he knew.

He kept his mouth on mine while moving his body back, plucking the last of the black fastenings from their cradles, before ripping his suit-coat off and down his shoulders in one smooth, fluid movement. I whined, pressing my body back against his, my dick, under a conditioned response, standing straight and tall against my pants. All of the heavy layers of clothing I had put on as a measure against the chilled air were peeled hungrily away, one by one, until I was plucked bare; de-feathered by his adroit hands, and all in under a minute. My head was once more in a cloud when I became aware that my underwear had fallen away, and I was being leaned up against the burning heat of the radiator.

Frenzied, I arched my back and panted out rushed encouragements as he molded his still clothed body to mine. Then he moved to the side, huffing in breaths as I bucked carelessly into his clever fingers, which were pressing two at a time against my hole before penetrating me dry, fisting my prostate with all the care and exaggerated leisure in the world, teasing it and touching it and stroking it at a rate and level of friction that drove me nearly insane. Once my cock was straining against the night air, tight and full, pre-cum leaking down it in clear strings, he paused, took in a deep breath, and removed his fingers. An arm around my middle pointed me in the right direction, and then he said, "Come with me."

I followed in a weak-kneed stumble, licking and kissing and biting whatever parts of his body were exposed by his deliciously askew clothes, absolutely beside myself with lust that I wanted fulfilled; well aware that something was going to happen tonight, though I didn't yet know what. The hallways and rooms of his sizeable home passed by me in a blur, none of the features or décor registering in my mind. I realized that I was being led down a flight of stairs and into his basement, and then I gasped. Half-gasped, at least, and then half-chuckled.

"I had no idea you were so into S&M, Mr. Sakyo."

"Lying does not become you, my little Shuuichi."

The sight of Mr. Sakyo's basement was too magnificent for me to wince at the parallels (no doubt caused by the one and adapted by the other) between his moniker for me and that of my nighttime visitor. From one side of the open cavity of his basement to another, an impromptu, miniature torture chamber had been built, stocked with sex toys of all shapes and sizes and several rather obvious human-shaped contraptions, including a horse and what looked like hundreds of masturbatory aids. I wondered if the voice, Youko, was still there watching this odd, half-expected happenstance. I couldn't help but wonder how Mr. Sakyo'd managed to sneak all of this in here without the neighbors noticing.

"You can't possibly expect me to agree to this," I said, light, dry humor in my voice, sobering up quickly at the excitement and fever of what would happen next. I wasn't scared: I had always been curious of what a hardcore sadomasochistic session actually looked and felt like, and, though I didn't trust Mr. Sakyo as far as I could throw him, I felt that this mistrust would add to the experience. I walked up to the straps that seemed to work by suspending one from the ceiling, fingering their hopeful, well-oiled thongs and sides, held together by rings whose purpose I didn't quite understand, and assumed were just for effect. As I drew an in-breath at a sudden fantasy that overtook me, I felt my half-flagging erection increase just a bit, and I wondered what I looked like to Mr. Sakyo. On impulse, I brought my oil-sullied fingers to my lips and licked tentatively, curious as to the taste. Sakyo laughed, softly, hungrily, a laugh that was smooth and melodious but still reminded me of a hyena's bark.

"We won't be doing anything like those more adult objects tonight. I leave this up to you. What do you want to try?"

I hummed, looking around at all the bits and pieces surrounding me, half of which had uses I couldn't even guess at, trying to judge what would please me without testing my limits too far or disappointing Mr. Sakyo. I hummed again.

"What do you suggest?"

"I…" I paused, setting my finger against my lips and looking upwards, something I often did when lost in thought. "Am not the one of us who knows anything about any of… this." I made a motion to the various sex toys permeating the room.

Sakyo laughed. "We'll work our way up to most of these, lovely. In the meantime, I think we should retire to my bedroom, don't you? Pick something you want to experiment with and we'll put it to use. I'll be at the top of the stairs." With that, he left, climbing to the first floor landing with an amused smirk on his face that excited me even further.

When I had chosen two of the smaller, less imposing vibrators, a kit that I was curious about, a paddle, a halter that didn't look like it would hurt quite as much as some of the others, and a collection of soft leather straps that I was sure were meant to further restrain me (deciding that he was right, on my first foray into S&M I shouldn't try anything too spicy) I walked up the stairs, stark naked and not at all worried about my clothes. Sakyo waited at the top, and raised an eyebrow at the straps and kit. "I had no idea you were so adventurous, pet," he chuckled.

"I was simply curious," I assured him, trying to sound both lofty and experienced while still keeping my appeal as a naïve schoolboy. I was suddenly very aware of how callow I was, and how deep my lack of familiarity with the more dangerous and decisive sides of sex ran. "Now, take me to your bedroom and make the case for why I should allow you to use me in such a way."

He chuckled again, his ice blue eyes narrowing as they took me in, all of me, and I realized I must be a sight. Naked, erect, blushing, goosebumped, holding toys I wanted to be tormented with while my face glowed with uncertainty and a hint of shyness; truly a walking wet-dream, if the ghastly look on his face was any indication. Overcome with a playful urge, I walked carelessly up to him and pressed my body against his, feeling my cock as it was sandwiched between his upper thigh and my own pelvis, leaning into him and laughing teasingly, "What do you suggest, Mr. Sakyo?" I was aware that my mood had been going all over the place recently, and my actions had the ring of incongruence: but I think he enjoyed that unpredictability more than he would any other actions.

Looking so cold and in control of himself that I almost sucked in a fearful breath at how out-of-control he must be, he took me by the arm and dragged me away and through the house (which I still paid little attention to), careful not to knock over any of my clumsy burden.

His bedroom, up a flight of carpeted stairs and down a long hallway, was shockingly simple. There were no black silk sheets, and no dungeon-like walls; it was a sleek and modern room with a pastel color scheme and light blue walls. A thick, seemingly bulletproof window whose curtains he quickly drew (while motioning at me to stay out of the line of sight) was a portal to the still night air, and the bright lighting and heavy, soundproofed walls lent themselves well to this little adventure. I wondered once more how he had managed to soundproof this room without attracting the notice of his neighbors, but then the queen-sized bed and its white sheets and gray pillows distracted me. I almost laughed at how unsophisticated the whole set-up was, so different from what I'd imagined.

"You seem amused, Shuuichi-kun."

"This is not the room I think of when I think of you, Sakyo. Your basement suits you better."

Mr. Sakyo chuckled, but didn't deny the charge. Then the moment of levity was gone, and he turned to me, his now completely flaccid, suddenly nervous student, and smiled the smile of a predator.

I'd let the boy giggle and play to his heart's content, wanting to put him at his ease before I started to condition him, but this was enough waiting. His boyish laughter at my expense was getting to be a little too much to bear.

My teenaged protégé's eyes suddenly widened into an expression that made me smile: it was very like that of the frightened rabbits in my pet shop, when I'd held them down in the dim back room before carving them up. Their glassy eyes and frantically beating heart urged me on in the darkness, and the same sense of frantic locomotion of the limbs was on me now as I leaned in and whispered into his velvet ear, "That kit is a sounding kit, and I don't think we should try something quite so painful or dangerous on the first night." I paused to trace his ear's outer ring with my tongue, and felt my voice dropping into a husky undertone. "Another time, perhaps?" I smiled again as I felt the little rabbit shudder and gulp softly.

I lifted the armful of toys and restraints from his hands and began to place them one by one on the bed, cleaning and straightening as I went. I'd always wanted to do this, from the moment I'd met the boy, but it was a difficult endeavor to gentle Shuuichi-kun into the plan and make him feel as though he wanted this all by his lonesome. I'd been aiding this venture all along by constantly mixing pain with his pleasure, like watered down wine for a young child; and, though he didn't know it, I increased the harm I was doing incrementally, slowly building up his defenses. Only recently had I noticed that I could apply fantastic amounts of pain without him registering it as anything but pleasure, and I'd known that his already high tolerance was now at the needed level.

He'd been a bit fanciful in his choices, obviously collecting things that were, one way or another, familiar to him. Undoubtedly that made them feel less threatening to his young mind, which meant that I'd have to work to keep them from becoming threatening. Truly, though, restraining myself around him was proving to be a Herculean effort.

I led him soundlessly to the bed, flashing a quick, toothy smile into his down-turned face, desiring to put him further at his ease. I realized that my current state of excitement made me entirely unable to gentle him in such a way, but I was willing to try. I motioned for him to crawl onto the bed, sighing lustfully at the timid way he did it, glancing at me surreptitiously from beneath his bangs as I quietly murmured my instructions, placing my hands on various parts of his body, guiding them. I arranged him the way I wanted him, on his knees, ass up and out, and then I picked up the well-organized halter from the foot of the bed.

My breath and his breath sped up to harsh pants (though for completely different reasons) as I looped the straps around his legs until they caught in the backs of his knees, and then brought the short final loop up and around his head, his neck forcing his legs to spread further apart.

Shuuichi-kun made a face. "That hurts, you know," he muttered under his breath, never too shy to keep up a string of witty asides.

"I mean it to," I replied, even as I reached for the full-arm shackles, which looked rather like two odd cocoons made of straps and buckles.

I'd never been so hard in my life. That dark, deep part of me wanted to do truly delicious and abhorrent things, to turn this willing session into a violent, unwilling rape, before finally killing him, here, on my bed, and discarding his body in the river that ran through this city. It seemed like a wonderful idea, to treat him like I did all the others.

But this was not the time, and I would be the prime suspect if what that monstrous part of me desired actually happened, thanks to the yatterings of those teenaged twigs who vied with him for my attention (or me for his). It was annoying that he seemed to need to increase the level of intrigue by dropping hints, and thus forcing me to drop hints, to the students of that hellhole. My brazen overtures were necessary, and I'd erase the tracks later on, when he was more willing and less immature in his sexuality.

The second they searched my home they'd find my little room, and my motive and guilt would be clear. No, better to dodge suspicion and just focus on teaching my pretty red-haired paragon the ways of the world. I had been active as I thought through all of this, murmuring encouragements to my newest slave and wrapping his arm with the buckled leather straps so that he was forced to stay on his knees with his elbows, triceps and wrists all flat against the bed.

"You forgot to bring a gag, lovely."

"I'll bite the pillow, teacher." He said, as saucy and amusing as ever, and, even better, unable to hide his anxiousness. I stood back to look at my prize, and hummed to myself in pleasure.

"You do need a gag. And a blindfold," I murmured, watching his sides expand and contract with fear. An idea came quickly, and I told him rather facetiously to wait. Within seconds I was back from my drawers with a pair of briefs I fed into his mouth with deceiving gentleness. I laughed at the annoyed look at his face, and he jerked his head. I removed the clothing from his mouth.

"Don't you think it would be better to hear my gasps and screams of pleasure, teacher?"

"Don't scream," I replied, allowing an edge of command to creep into my voice. "We don't want to wake the neighbors up. But if you don't want a gag, that's fine, lovely." I considered my tone of concern extremely transparent, but he didn't seem to see through it.

"Now," I said, sick of waiting, and sick of the tension building up to a fever pitch inside of me, "from now on I'm going to treat you a little worse than I normally do. You aren't to speak unless I give you permission, or ask you to beg me, understand?" I looked at his ass cheeks, spread by the halter that forced aside his legs, and his dick, which, like him, couldn't seem to decide whether it was hard or soft. I gripped both cheeks in my hands, relishing his surprised gasp as I squeezed, enamored with the hard muscle that clenched and then unclenched, his instincts to protect himself fighting with his knowledge that I wasn't going to truly harm him. He would have done better to go by his instincts, I thought, and nearly laughed at my own joke. I leaned in on a sudden impulse and probed the tight muscle that protected his inner walls with my tongue. I didn't particularly like rimming, or using my mouth on genitalia in general (be it cunnilingus, analingus, or fellatio), but it often had a big effect, and Shuuichi especially seemed to melt in my hands when I tongue-fucked him.

"Do you want something?" I asked caustically, stroking his entrance with my fingertip. His cock was now hard, and leaking little drops from the folds of its uncircumcised head onto my sheets as he moaned in response, unable to rock back and meet me because of his restraints. "Answer me. Is there something you would like me to do?"

His sense of fun was obviously excited. "Oh teacher, p-please put your tongue inside me!"

I grabbed the paddle, not giving him time to comprehend, and brought it across his ass with a crack. He let out an undignified squawk.

"Say it as though you mean it, Shuuichi, or things will go very hard for you."

"Please rim me, Mr. Sakyo," came the slightly subdued reply, though there was still a mischievous edge about his voice that made me desperately wish I had the freedom to punish the playfulness out of him. I grinned at the thoughts of what I could do in a situation like this if my plans were just a bit less far-reaching, and my tryst tonight just a little better planned. The power I felt as I stroked the taut muscle with my finger was unparalleled.

"You want me to?" I asked, looking down speculatively at my bagged prey, my eyes flicking from one body part to the next, somehow never seeing the whole, but just pieces that appealed to me.

"Yes, please," he said, sounding exhilarated and scared.

I hummed to ease his obvious trepidation, and then began to work my magic. He tasted bitter, like they all did, but it was the feel of him bucking against the straps and biting something to stifle his moans that made this course of action truly worthwhile. As I stimulated his prostate expertly with my tongue, my hands kneaded and massaged his ass, both to force aside the cheeks and to heighten the feeling of pain from his reddened backside, which undoubtedly still stung pleasantly from my quick application of the paddle. Those delicious twinges were certainly aided by the leather harness and straps, which must have begun to chafe by now.

When he was starting to jerk with every movement of my tongue, thus cluing me in that he'd began to feel me inside him in just the way I wanted him to, I receded quickly and picked up the vibrator. He moaned in protest at the lack of stimulation, and then blinked those big, verdant eyes in confusion when I put the small day-glo pink ball up to his lips.

"Suck on it," I instructed, and he opened his sweet lips in reply, his tongue curling around the plastic. I couldn't stop a huffing groan as he; his back arched, his cock full, his eyes hooded; suckled the ball. When it was neatly moist, I pulled it out of his mouth by the string, loving the way he put up the slightest resistance by circling his lips, keeping the vibrator in for a moment longer so I was forced to pull just a little more violently. I kissed him when it was finally all out, a nice, long, beautiful kiss, unable to speak and barely able to think from my constantly mounting arousal.

The vibrator, only slightly warmed by his mouth, caused him to gasp as I forced it inside and to the right spot with one straight finger, and then moved the dial just a bit to the right, so that he could feel it against his prostate without achieving any real gratification. It was not yet hot, nor was it really moving, and he moaned louder in need, obviously wanting something more. I perused the galleries of my lust for a while, and then decided to give it to him.

I looped the second vibrator around his cock, using the string to hold it in place, and then suddenly reached up to put a hand over his mouth while I turned up the volume to the optimal place. Just as I had known he would, he screamed into my hand, thrashing against his bonds at the sudden pleasure.

"Don't scream again, or I'll paddle you harder than you think is possible." I admonished, getting further and further wound into the game.

He panted deeply, sucked in a breath, and then did something I hadn't expected. He started talking. "But Sakyo, won't that break…"

The fury started at the base of my stomach, and then reached with hungry hands through my body. Unknowingly, I was leaping back into how I treated those call girls I usually practiced my arts on, and in treating him like a whore I forgot the delicacy of the situation. The paddle, which I had left at a convenient angle, was grasped in my one hand, raised up, and came down fast with a resounding crack. Another squawk of muffled surprise sounded in front of me, but I ignored it as I turned both vibrators up to their highest frequency, while keeping my hand over his mouth.

The anger abated immediately at his perfect reaction. He jumped (or rather, started; the leather was holding him tightly in place), and yowled into my hand, bucking wildly (and, in doing so, nearly breaking his neck) and moaning at the sudden, sordid increase in fulfillment, his eyes filling with tears and then expelling them with a blink to give them leave to roll with their desire. I leaned in to my thrashing student, and said, "Say that you're sorry, Shuuichi, and that you'll never do it again."

"D-d-d-do wh-what?" He whimpered back to me.

I paddled him again, and he really did jump this time, obviously going insane at the mixed pleasure and pain. His head was flung from side to side, and he seemed truly mindless. I couldn't resist leaning in and laying my lips against his ear, saying: "I thought I made it clear that you were to call me Mr. Sakyo, and were not to speak out of turn. I trust you won't forget in the future. In the meantime, if you wish for me to do something, I give you permission to ask now."

He closed both eyes and wheezed. "I'm so-oo, ooo SORRY," he began, trying to stop his incredible levels of arousal by sheer force of will. "Plea-ea-ease, Mr. Sakyo, finish me off. I want it from you, p-please, Mr. Sakyo."

Shuuichi-kun was obviously exaggerating the whole thing with his false stuttering, but I decided that if I pushed things anymore tonight, I might lose him completely. I had already let myself go much too far, and gotten thoroughly overexcited. I placed a gentle kiss on his cheek, as a sort of unfelt apology for my roughness before (though he obviously thought it was a real apology from his soft sigh as I turned down both the vibrators). Then, carefully, showing much more restraint than I had all the rest of this night, I tried to ease the nagging doubts of right and wrong that radiated from Shuuichi's kneeling body by removing the vibrator. I had a moment of hesitation, and then, deciding that he and this occasion were special enough to warrant it, I grabbed the lubricant bottle that I kept in my bedside drawer and spread it lightly over my cock, positioning myself behind him and whispering sweet nothings to him as I gently probed his ass with my cock. I screwed him with a facsimile of love; instead of doing what I really wanted to do, which was fuck him into oblivion. His excitement and mine were simply too much, and I only lasted about ten minutes; he even less than that. Finally, my hard thrusts settled down as my tight cock released its seed deep inside sweet Shuuichi. I thrust once more, twice; and then it was over. I sighed deeply, and collapsed on top of my young lover, if only for a moment, before I straightened up with a yawn and removed him from the restraints. I unwound the vibrator, helping him stretch out his cramped, tightened legs.

He leaned against me, his face turned upward with innocent exhaustion and sweet fulfillment that was incongruent with what had just transpired, and I was momentarily afraid that he wouldn't be able to walk himself home. I helped him into the bathroom and splashed water on his face, using a lathered-up washcloth to gently bathe the sweat and cum from his tired body. Then, I pulled out my medicine kit and cleaned and sterilized all the leather burns, taking especial care as I rubbed ointment on his tender red backside.

I decided that the only way to keep him now was to be gentle with him, and knowingly take advantage of his fragile emotional state (it was obvious that I'd gone too far—not far enough to be a real issue, but far enough that it might have an adverse effect on my plans). When he was downstairs and clothed, and seemed a little more awake and aware, I gently kissed him and told him with the false tenderness that always left him starry-eyed after sex (whether he admitted it or not) that if possible, he should avoid showing his pain tomorrow. "If you don't think you can, then play sick and don't come to school. Understood?"

He blinked at me with his engaging green eyes, and smiled. "Don't worry about me."

There was an ironic note around his voice: he knew I worried only for myself. Then my door opened and closed softly, and he was gone. I smiled to myself, and went back up to dream some dreams of what I would have done, if I had been unable to restrain myself further. They were very pleasant dreams indeed.

_To be continued._

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><p>Writing sex scenes in first person is much more difficult than I'd thought possible. You're inside the characters' heads, and if the character is truly aroused, their thought patterns are more simple-minded than you'd generally expect. Take that as my apology for the unelaborated sex scene.<p> 


	4. Chapter 4

Thank you kindly to everyone who rated and reviewed, and MERRY CHRISTMAS, BLUE (even though it's now several weeks later)!

This is my fall out chapter—that is to say, the 'nothing really happens, but there are sex scenes!' chapter.

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><p>By the time I came back to myself from the heightened, painful feeling of arousal I'd been left with, even the dogs had gone to sleep. The frosty night that surrounded me restrained the world in a cruel embrace, shushing away every last whisper of sound as it added its unreal halo to the moon. A thinly disguised fog padded in on cat's feet, intent on its mission to disfigure the glow of the street lamps, which stood as sentinels on either side of the street. As the familiar light bled into something smothering and strange, almost ethereal in its splendor, I lowered my eyes and stared at my boots, abnormally warped by dark and shadows. The stinging, tingling remnants of the pleasure I'd been shown this past evening carried on, sparking through my body along the frayed paths of worn nerves.<p>

I was exhausted, and if it hadn't been so frigid outside I would have collapsed into the gutter with no real wish but that it never got so cold I froze to death. Still, I understood what would happen if an adolescent boy were found blocks from his house, with signs of sexual abuse on his body and a mind too fuzzy from exhaustion to provide a coherent alibi. Such a messy possibility couldn't be entertained, and, with that knowledge to fire me onwards, I gathered myself and trotted further along, gaining speed as I went.

There was something very strange about Mr. Sakyo, I was discovering. Beyond the obvious, I mean; there was something off, something not quite right about him. I suppose it should be clear to me already that an intelligent, handsome, young-ish man with the perfect attributes for a tough corporate job, who is instead functioning as a high school teacher (and, in the process, chasing teenage skirts), is probably not the most sane or together man one could meet.

Still, there was something about the way he'd acted tonight that was niggling at me, pulling on my senses. There were parts of that S&M session where he'd barely acted sane, let alone in-control—though he hadn't really hurt me, he'd so obviously wanted to. Clean-cut fear welled up inside me as I remembered his brutal whispers into my sensitive ear, cuing fields of goosebumps to rise all across my neck. This night had involved more fear than any screw, even a more adventurous one than usual, should have excited, and that was starting to bother me.

The more I thought about it, in fact, the more it bothered me, burrowing patiently inside my mental processes to settle comfortably in. Tonight it had seemed like he was only just restraining himself from doing something, something awful, and something that I certainly didn't want to come fully to light. In all the other relationships I'd had with all the other boys I'd slept with, I'd never had that feeling of standing at the edge of an abyss, balanced over its tip and staring down into the endless vicissitudes of death. I could remember a few lovers with odd impulses they'd been forced to quash, but nothing like my experience with Mr. Sakyo.

I paused, wondering where the word 'death' had come from; and then dismissed it, and allowed those thoughts to escape out of my head. I chided myself for having such a fanciful imagination—first the visions, and now this! A phrase my mother used to say when she couldn't remember where she'd left something, 'my mind must have a sense of humor, to play so many tricks,' repeated idly in my head. As I blew into my hands, my breath steaming in front of me in a warm, lacy puff, I began to wish I'd brought mittens, even if it was only autumn. Sticking them into my pockets for safekeeping, I noticed a light and an open door to my right. Luckily, that house had a slatted wooden fence streaming out in front of it, and it was the work of a moment to bend down and creep by under its cover.

I couldn't help but glance through the posts as I snuck along the road, placing my feet carefully to impede the crunch of hoar frost and gravel, curious who it was that dared to punctuate this sinister night with their presence. The woman I saw between the slots of the fence, perched in front of a black, tangled mat of flowers, looked staid, yet at her ease as she sat poised in perfect equilibrium, conforming to the open doorway of her home. She disdained the quiet with a soft, careless lullaby that I could barely hear, apparently for no one but herself. Her voice was muffled to the point that I would have sworn, if I hadn't seen her lips moving, that the sweet, grainy song was coming from an old fashioned radio or a some other archaic device—a phonograph, in fact, was what came to mind—as I dodged grey eyes that stared unwaveringly at something I couldn't see.

She seemed secure to me, held between envelopment by the cushion of heat and warmth behind her and the seductive kisses of the bitter dark all around. It was so picturesquely beautiful that I paused and crouched for a moment to watch her on the steps, wondering who she was and what had happened to give her such a melancholy moment of repose. A child sauntered into view, black, silky hair framing his face in a bowl-shaped cut, and I turned away. The untamable urge to run welled up before I had a chance to stop it, seizing my limbs with the frantic need to move. I was almost sure I felt her eyes turn to me in shock as I dashed, still crouching, in a full-speed sprint to the street I needed to turn into to go home.

It's very honest to say, however, that I didn't turn, but careened around the right corner, my heart slamming into my ribcage as I became more composed. It was a while before I began to walk instead of run, my harsh pants barely reaching my ears through the silence of this deaf and dumb night. The memories that never quite left began to ease out of their restraints, tiptoeing on clawed and hoofed feet to poison my mind with their bitter whispers.

I didn't want to remember any of it; not tonight, not when I'd tried so brazenly to lose it all in Mr. Sakyo's pleasure. I didn't want to acknowledge my father's damning accident, or my mother's slow decline from a slightly thin, slightly sickly, yet very loving woman into a wraith that could barely get out of bed, constantly beset by agony as she was held prisoner by the overwhelming canopy of mortality and death. That I could be bereft of my mother and father before I was eighteen was terrifying in new and abhorrent ways every time I thought about it; but, after all this time, it was dulled. There was nothing I could do.

I fixed my clothes, forcing my still pain-and-pleasure singed nerves into a ball that I could control, and began a dignified stroll down towards my house. The familiar white walls (stained dusty grey by the black, lightless night) and grasping tree, deformed by its own shadows, came into view soon after my control resurfaced, but it was a while before I came close enough that I could crawl up the rose trellis to the high branches, and then slide open the window with the ease and care of a thief.

I was running on pure adrenaline as I shut the glass behind me and took off and hid my thicker clothes in favor of a pressed set of pajamas. I stumbled into bed, falling down in a vaguely correct position and worming my way under the covers. As I crawled, I tried to button the last fastenings of my striped shirt—but the second my head hit the pillow, my hands fell away, reality shifting inescapably into dreams.

Sakyo was above me, cackling loudly as he held me down. I smiled at him, and then the dream shifted and I got up and left, walking down a vaguely unformed staircase that stretched in every direction as a panegyric cacophony assured me of my excellence with a series of booming, mellifluous voices. I couldn't stop there, though: I was looking for something that couldn't be found on this stairway. Water began to run down the stairs, cold and clutching as the riptide threatened to force me down, and then there was a soft feeling of alteration, and against my will (as dreams always were), I found my awareness twisted and turned into something troubling and new.

Yusuke! For Inari's sake, Yusuke!

Is that… my voice? My thoughts? They seemed very alike to mine, especially the cadence of the words, but the emotions had a foreign feeling to them, a blunted feeling that I couldn't describe. There was something alien about the sentiments that flooded me—as if they belonged to a different being entirely, something not wholly human.

Do as you will, you'll never break me. Your victory will be hollow: by all the Gods, it will be!

Vivid colors, a panicked voice, a terrible place to end… what? Life? Happiness? Pride, nature, dignity, existence at all… but that feeling, what was that feeling?

Pain, fear, bitter regret: if only I could see…

Pungent and thick despair, coupled with abject desperation—and the leaves, the twigs, they penetrate my flesh under the tutelage of his movements. The movement was the problem, actually. It was awful, shameful and wrong—so very, very wrong that I despised the movement, reviled it, cowered from it. And a name filled me, a name that I knew I'd taste on my lips as I died, the last moments flashing around me with a vibrant sense of reality (reality? This was a dream, there was no reality), whether by my will or against it, whether in this world or another. Light, pain, more pain, and more and more, overwhelming me, more pain than I'd ever felt or could ever imagine. Pain, pain, pain…

And then there was daylight, the smooth texture of my sheets being clutched in sweat-slicked palms, and the jagged, hateful taste of a 'Ka,' which was all that was left of the name that had flooded my senses with disgust only moments ago. I looked around me, confused, but last night's bruises began clamoring for relief from my tense muscles and I fell back with a groan.

I was going to have to take the day off today. There was absolutely no way I could get into school. With that thought to calm me, I curled up and tried to get back to sleep, knowing that no one in this house cared enough to force me to go to the academy, or even listen to my reasons for staying home. Even mother just didn't have the energy anymore.

—-

I panted out a soft, sinful chuckle, allowing it to die on the edge of my lips. My final dream had proven to be a truly pleasant surprise. The bleeding and tormented Shuuichi of my fantasies was burned into the back of my eyelids (though he'd had another name, a name I'd been corrected for misusing—that nickname of his, Kurama, I think), twisting with pain as he was brutalized in the dark ring of a deciduous forest.

I licked the salt off my lips, my eyes unfocusing as I saw him as my unconscious mind had painstakingly depicted: alone and frightened, with nothing but his captor and the emotionless, interlocking branches of trees to see him fade. Cut off, stranded, without even the hope of help, subject to the destruction within his own soul and mind of everything he had once held dear; the only thing I regretted was that I was not the perpetrator of this stunning crime. That honor was held by a vaguely defined figure, shadowed under his sable hair. I paused, commending this whim of my imagination for the beautiful look of fear and sorrow on Shuuichi's tremulous face, and almost lost myself enough to look for a source when I fancied a voice, below any range of hearing, breathed a velvet 'you're welcome' into the shell of my ear.

Folding back the edge of my blanket lightly, I glanced down at the sizeable problem that had arisen beneath the sheets, tenting them, aching for a little release. I settled further into the bed, the soft pillows pleasant against the curve of my back as I undid the buttons and parted my bedclothes' flags to either side of myself, briskly examining the engorged head. With the taste of Shuuichi still on my tongue, and the last fleeting remnants of the dream behind my eyes, I put one finger on the tip of my cock and pressed, angling it so I could rub the slit. I allowed my legs to spread a little wider, and cupped my aching heat in a hand, feeling it throb in welcoming need under the gentle touch.

I summoned into my mind the brilliant image of the tight mounds of Shuuichi's ass, his cheeks spread by my hands, and let out a soft huffing moan as I examined myself through lidded eyes. That attractive little cock of his was in my sight, no matter what my eyes were looking at, begging me for some stimulation as the horny nymphet that owned those cute cheeks and little cock pleaded with me to stop. In my fantasy, he had no choice but to do it with his tearful, dilating pupils, since his mouth was properly gagged. I began to fist myself, running my hands over the skin, squeezing it at a languid pace as I imagined the powerful feeling of slamming my fingers into him, three at a time, unlubed and forceful as he shook and screamed into unforgiving leather.

My strokes turned violent with the potent feeling of how right it felt to abuse the boy, if only in my head. I could see the tears and taste the sweat as, in a fabrication sanctified by my mind's eye, I dragged my tongue up his back; and, with that image so real inside me, I let my tongue flick out to taste my own salty perspiration, pretending it was Shuuichi's. The taste, both imagined and true, dragged another pant-laced groan out of my mouth. I increased it into a shout as I caressed my balls with my other hand, finding the secret pleasure points that Shuuichi had begun to learn in his forays into oral sex. I nearly collapsed under the explosive feeling of this masturbation, but instead fisted myself harder, pulling and tugging and squeezing as electric shocks of heat jolted through my body.

The images from the night before returned, my mind so blissful it couldn't complete a faked fantasy. The paddle slammed down, sticking to his skin, torn away shortly afterward but leaving the kiss of bright, beautiful red on his buttocks. It hit his balls, too, just a little—not enough to damage, but enough to heighten the sensation. I built on that, imagining myself gripping those hanging testicles firmly in my hand and squeezing until he shook. I could imagine ripping off the gag. Please, I heard without hearing. A 'no' accentuated his petal lips as they contorted in pain; or perhaps stood full and quivering with pleasure?

Just as I reached the culmination of my fantasy, the wild, rushed scene of penetrating Shuuichi with all the violence I could muster (and barely aware that back in my room, my own body was twitching and writhing as I bucked into my tired hand), my release broke. Clutching the mussed and dirtied sheets in one hand while jerking and gripping with the other, all images faded from my head. I rode out the razor edge of my orgasm, amazed at how far my come flew, tasting the bit that had settled against my lips.

I lay there, my throat catching with pants, and allowed my eyes to drift to the harness I'd used last night. I would clean up in a little bit. For now, I wanted to lie down, feel my cock ache from how roughly it had been used, and wish I had done half the things in my head to Shuuichi last night. I almost gave in to frustration at how little I had managed, stopped by his inexperience and my own over-excitement. Instead, though, I narrowed my eyes, vowing that the next time we did this I would stay in control, and begin to truly train him. Conditioning little Shuuichi, if I did it just right, was likely to be an incredible pleasure, reaping rewards beyond my wildest dreams.

With a final sigh, I climbed out of bed, watching the hard tissue of my penis slowly soften as I went in to rip off my night clothes and step into a shower. Without the pleasure of that one stunning face staring up at me from its seat in our prestigious academy, I knew I would find today wholly unpleasant; but to take a day off was not an option. Shuuichi would doubtlessly remain at home with his invalid mother, and if both of us took the same day off warning bells would ring from one side of the school to another. I felt my heart soften and my lust stir once more as I imagined him doubled over from the pain of the leather burns and the ache of his backside, releasing delectable whimpers.

There was always tomorrow.

—-

A warm bath and the Naron Ace I'd taken worked wonders on my sore, tender body. I was actually surprised by how well they'd done when put in line against leather burns and stretched, stiffened muscles, and resolved to use the dual power of a bath and Naron Ace more often when laid up with muscle pains.

Today had passed in an incredibly bland blur, with little injustices and petty annoyances piled mercilessly on. I'd spent some time by my mother's bedside, assuring her that I was alright, and spent more time being fussed over by the matronly day nurse, a bullish old woman who insisted on feeding me nikujaga and tucking me away in bed, under orders not to get up. With those parameters put in place, she'd left me sitting in my room, the hot bowl and a pair of hashi held in two hands and the quilted covers pulled up to my chest. The book I'd been reading lay dog-eared and abandoned by my side.

When given some leeway to think, I realized that I didn't mind her bustling as much as I thought I did. There was something wonderful about active maternal affection—about having someone take care of me. If I was honest with myself, I probably used sex to get the attention I craved in all other areas of my life. That thought, however, was quickly quashed; now was not the time to psychoanalyze myself. The conundrum of Mr. Sakyo was too important to wait.

He was a bastard all right. Was it even sane to keep up this menacing relationship, and risk finding out later that I'd been dragged in too deep? Should I break it off, and return to living the boring life of a high school student, uninterested, unstimulated, surrounded by maladroit conversations and a gauche lack of taste? Either way I chose, I'd have to take into account Mr. Sakyo's reaction.

On the one hand… But on the other… I mused irresolutely, lost in my thoughts.

Finally, after mulling the dilemma over for some time, I came to my decision: I'd wait and see. It was entirely possible that, when faced with my first foray into S&M, I had gotten a little overexcited and was now tacking feelings and urges onto Mr. Sakyo that he didn't really possess. The more I thought about it, the more sense it made. Honestly, for all I knew, I could have perceived his actions to stem from a lack of control, when, in fact, he was just using a healthy exercise of sadism on a willing partner.

With my conscience assuaged, I settled into bed and began sipping at the stew, using the hashi to lift bits of meat into my mouth. I resolved myself to getting rested so I could make it to school tomorrow. I would play this by ear. If it seemed like he was pulling me to places I didn't want to go, I could always end it. And, on that note, maybe it would be best to avoid his house, at least for now. In school I had the ability to scream for help; at his home, I was not so lucky.

It was strange to me that in the back of my mind something was looking forward to this, excited by the decision I'd made—something I barely understood.

—-

"Don't make a sound, Shuuichi. That's the object of this game; if you allow a noise to escape, someone will come bursting in here, and we'll never do this again. Whatever I do, you can't moan, groan, scream, or do anything more vocal than softly pant," he hissed into my ear, the tendrils of his breath caressing the sensitive nerves and creating shivers that radiated through my entire body. I bit my lip and nodded tentatively, knowing that if I broke the rules of this game, the teacher we could both hear illicitly watching a smuggled television in the next room would come bursting in, just in time for the show: me, splayed and exposed, brought to the very pinnacles of lust under a teacher's capricious hands. I was terrified that he'd come bursting in anyway, actually, but also so strangely exhilarated that I was already hard. "Bite whatever you have to, but stay quiet."

I closed my eyes and shuddered as fingers traced the bruises and leather burns still present from our tryst two nights ago. My lips pursed as he knelt behind me, nibbling and biting at the marks on my skin, teasing them until I could feel their dull, throbbing ache morph into something more immediate and demanding. I rocked forward a little, silently begging him to stop. Mr. Sakyo's put a gentle, apologetic kiss on the contusions he'd been tormenting, and then allowed his tongue to slide up my backbone, the last of the saliva gone by the time it came to the top of the small of my back, leaving just the pleasantly rough sensation of taste buds savoring my skin.

My focus, which had moved to the pile of clothes that nestled together so near, yet so far away if we were interrupted, shifted entirely to flashes of gratification and concupiscence as my pulsating cock was grasped in a forceful hand. I nearly sighed aloud at the quick throb of pleasure, but then he did something that made my eyes widen and my mouth pop open with a tiny squeak of shock: he dug his nail into the slit. I rocked back urgently, away this time, and he bit a burn behind me, hard. I tilted my head up to the ceiling, staring at the bare bulb that lit it, unmindful of the sunspots that formed behind my eyes. I allowed a single tear to escape, tracking it as it dribbled down my cheeks and onto my chin, then down my neck, until finally it was soaked up by the collar of my uniform and gone from my awareness.

Mr. Sakyo climbed sinuously back onto his feet. He'd barely been standing for a moment before a hand threaded through the long locks of my scarlet hair, fisted, and curved my body so that my head, besotted and foggy from the need for fulfillment, rested on his well-muscled shoulder. Sakyo nibbled at my earlobe, and all I could hear was his breath, once more strong with liquor as it blew against my soft cheek and neck. He slowly began to tease my erection into an even larger and more needy state.

"Get on your knees," he murmured into my ear, and I silently, if clumsily complied, so aroused (and even, on some levels, so amused) by the whole thing that I had no option but to acquiesce to the best of my ability. A hand on my shoulder bent me further, my palms swinging forward to lie flat against the rough concrete floor. I bent until I was eye-level with the flimsy legs of a plywood fold-out table that had been placed here long ago after being used for some inane, unknown purpose.

For one second, nothing touched me, and the cool, stagnant air of this closet comprised my entire world. In my mind, several facts were warring for dominance: the fact that I was naked at school, and the fact that the rough flooring was murder on my sensitive knees, the fact that the other teacher, someone I wasn't familiar with, had just let out a barking laugh in the closet next to this, and the fact that my head was buzzing with the various things Mr. Sakyo was about to do—but when I felt a warm hand engulf and begin to fondle my balls, those thoughts left my head in a flurry. The palm and fingers started off gently, using a feat of skilled legerdemain to make me shake my head weakly at the sudden increase of gratification, and then became rough when the tiniest sound of arousal escaped my lips.

I jumped a bit when I felt something rubbery and small being pushed against my opening, and looked back, confused. Mr. Sakyo's shockingly blue eyes fixed on mine, commanding them, and then an unsharpened pencil was held up—his way of explanation. I shut my eyes in discomfort as it was pushed in dry, the bizarre feeling of its angular sides and various textures against my inner walls forcing my cock to become just a little bit fuller. I whined softly to myself; somehow or other, he'd managed to leave it so the eraser was just brushing my prostate. I sighed, forgetting his strict edict from earlier, and wanting something more substantial inside me—and then snapped my mouth shut when I glanced back and saw the look on his face.

There was a subdued rustling, and then two cold lines contacted the sides of my nipple, smooth and strangely metallic. I glanced down, and felt my eyes widen to the shape of ten yen coins as they found the black binder clip held firmly in his hand, opened enough to touch either side of my areola. I stopped myself from panting as I watched his other hand, the one not poising a potentially painful object over my sensitive nipple, slide a finger between the clips and begin to move in small, deft circles, carefully hardening the tiny nub.

I blushed and twisted, arousal warring with fear as the sultry warmth of anticipation and excitement overtook my nerves. Sakyo allowed the jaws of the clamp to bite me, the two edges coming closer and closer together as I watched, enthralled. Soon enough, it had been compressed enough that the sensitive pink flesh was starting to feel incredible, the cold metal somehow heightening the pleasure and making my head spin. His fingers slowly relaxed their hold, and I got more and more nervous as the pleasure began to be laced with pain, my nipple starting to throb horribly beneath its grip. Finally, his hand was gone, and the harsh ache caused my arousal to be fully tainted by fear.

"Now the other one," he promised, his face just behind mine in the crook of my neck, and his voice edged with a smile that I could practically taste. The heated puff of his breaths set off stifling echoes in the shell of my ear. "Don't make a sound."

He repeated the process, teasing and touching gently at first, and then allowing the steel trap to come down on the sweet nub, the original pleasure I'd felt almost completely drowned out by the smooth, icy pain. Both my nipples burned acutely under the binder clips' influence, the sensitive nerves gripped in a vice that I wanted desperately to open, even as I wanted it to stay shut. I longed to give voice to my discomfort, but I bit my lip instead, my body shaking with the torment of keeping silent as I waited for my mind to reel with pleasure, like it always did.

I was being maneuvered, I realized, my brain beginning to register things other than the soreness of my chest; and then something hot and wet engulfed my cock and I had to quickly stifle a scream with a quick intake of breath. Hearing the whoosh of a wail beginning, Mr. Sakyo grazed my erection with his teeth, as if to warn me that there would be consequences if I forgot myself.

Consequences? I wanted to tell him that if we were caught like this, he would be the one who faced consequences. Still, I took the warning at face value, and spread my legs further, arching myself into his mouth, my knuckles grazing the concrete floor. I looked down, wincing still at the burning ache of the clips on my nipples, and saw a sight that promised to feed my masturbatory fantasies for weeks to come.

Mr. Sakyo stared up at me, his sapphire eyes inhuman as they burned into mine. My slim body was opened up for him, my cock standing straight and tall as his mouth pleased it, suctioning and licking, sending warm, wet shocks throughout my body. His tongue reached out of his mouth, and I became harder still at the sight and feeling of it gently stroking the head, and probing into and around my sensitive slit.

I was aware that my cheeks were bathed with color, and that he had removed the pencil at some point and replaced it with a finger that reached inside me to tease my body further while my mind was distracted. I was aware that the ferocious pain of the binder clips was now, rather than actually hurting me, just heightening my pleasure. But more than anything, I was aware that I couldn't make a sound. My brain had latched onto that parameter, finding that it gave this whole situation a feeling of the forbidden, which accentuated the fuck (a rather hackneyed thing to work on me, of course) and made me incredibly aroused, to the point that each of my breaths came out as practically inaudible, but enticing little moans.

I was shaking when he put me on my knees. I was choking when he pulled gently on the clips, twisting them just a bit. And when I felt the finger (which had somehow stayed inside of me the whole time) being roughly removed, and heard the sound of suit pants coming swiftly undone to be effectively dropped, I was more than a little afraid that neither one of us would be able to keep this silence up for very much longer.

Then he was pushing inside me, his hands clutching my still-bruised hips, digging in his square fingernails, and I covered my mouth with both palms to stifle the sounds that were being fucked out of me. His dick reached all the way into me, stretching my passage past my ability to bear the subsequent sensations, filling me with friction and dry heat as he began to move. He let out a pleased breath as his cock met with resistance from my tight muscles and the contractions of my inner walls. On the first try, purely out of all the practice we'd had, he hit my prostate with a direct thrust, timing it so that he twisted and pulled my ersatz nipple clamps at the same time as he pounded into my sweet spot.

I held myself back from screaming with all my might, tears flowing down my cheeks from the effort. I tossed my head weakly, and looked back to plead with him, using only my eyes and the soft shake of my head as tools to beg. My big emerald pools were reflected in his hawkish gaze, and for one second there was, once again, something not at all right about him. His hooded eyes, his cheeks stained with color (but for the white tissue of his scar), his lips curled into a ghost of a predatory snarl; they all combined to give him a look so insane, and so far from his usual unruffled self, that it shook me to the core.

Then, to my relief, I felt long, graceful fingers undo the binder clips and carefully remove them from my searing flesh. They were quickly placed on the floor beside me, my nipples still stinging painfully, though the keen sense of having one of the more intimate and receptive parts of my body be crushed and abused was thankfully over.

"Can you make it, Shuuichi-kun?" he asked. His voice, oddly enough, was almost comforting, and seemed to caress my body with its velvet edges. His hands strayed from my hips, one finding a still-erected nipple to gently stimulate, while his other roamed my body with insatiable fire. My hands still pressed over my lips as hard as they could, I shook my head, trying to tell him that I wouldn't last much longer on just about every front without breaking the oh-so-necessary rules. He snorted softly, and stiffly entered into an upright position on his knees, looking down at me with an odd expression on his face.

"Then I'll go quickly. Don't make a sound," he admonished, and then began again at a merciful, gentle pace, the look on his face saying he wanted to do something much more savage. It took all of my might to keep myself under control as his hot, wonderful cock and his warm, skillful hands teased me, for once mindful of my limits instead of barreling through them for his own amusement. I panted like an animal in time to each of his thrusts, and occasionally allowed a soft whine or moan to escape. In general, however, I didn't violate the sanction, and kept the edict of silence in mind.

When I started to make the first soft sounds of orgasm, he motioned to me, and I placed both my hands and he, both his, over my mouth; but there was still the echo of a cut cry as I came. His control over himself was much greater than mine—he didn't make a single uncalculated sound, besides a low, solemn grunt, as his semen spurted into my body a few minutes later, searing and strange in its familiarity, forced deep inside me by his measured thrusts.

The awkward dance of cleaning, clothing and straightening began once he'd pulled out with a second pleased grunt. Mr. Sakyo was done quickly, and watched with predatory eyes as I finished buttoning and straightening my uniform. Against my soft protests, he helped me brush the dirt off my pants, and then pulled me up into a harsh kiss, violating my mouth with his tongue. We dueled hotly, both of us finding the strength and lust to do so from god knows where, teeth flashing as I became lost once more in the aching, tingling sensation of Mr. Sakyo and his shameless desires.

Finally, we broke apart, hot breath crashing against each other's mouths as our lips and chins bumped clumsily together. Sakyo smirked, and murmured something to me, something I couldn't hear. Before I could ask him what he'd said, though, he put his lips next to my ear and whispered, "You go first."

I smiled, twirled around for a final examination to make sure I was as immaculate as always, and then casually walked out of the side door into the gymnasium. I would shower and then return to class, and soon enough we would be together again. The odd sense of impending doom I'd gotten a few nights ago was almost completely forgotten, lost in sapphire eyes and endless coils of pleasure. Conducting an affair with Mr. Sakyo was strangely enthralling, and for now, suspicions couldn't keep up.

I wondered if they ever would.

_To be continued._

* * *

><p>My god, I need to work harder on my characterizations. I'm really going all over the board with this.<p>

Anyway, hopefully this isn't as bad as I think it is, and you, my wonderful readers, won't get too annoyed with me. This muse isn't cooperating as well as some of my other ones.


	5. Chapter 5

A.N.: I apologize for the long wait. This muse has been anything but helpful—and choosing Japanese names is going to drive me to distraction one day, I promise you that.

* * *

><p>I should have known I would cause a panic when I said I was sick. I had used the word again, a charming smile on my face, but the result had been anything but a benign admonition to go back to bed and eat some of Miho-san's homemade kayu. Miho-san, the night nurse who had given me leave to call her by her given name the very instant we met, immediately began chastising me with an urgency that took me aback.<p>

In a hushed voice, she told me that an infection like mine, which barely counted as a cold for me, could be a nail in my mother's coffin if it wasn't treated and contained. We conspired briefly, both alarmed by the thought of causing my mother's death (of death in general, of my mother gone, of me alone), and I didn't argue when she shooed me out of the house with the promise that she'd make excuses to my mother while I went to the doctor, stocked up on antibiotics, and avoided my home until I was better (or, at the very least, not contagious).

And so, here I was, shifting from foot to foot and trying not to sneeze in front of Mr. Sakyo's house, my cheek scrubbed raw and red from more than just audaciousness and the biting fall wind. I looked around at the sun-drenched street, so different in the light of day, knowing full well that it was dangerous to come to his house when people might see me. I was about to leave, assuming he'd already gone to school, when I heard the lock slide back, and another, and another. Then the door opened, and I was being grabbed and dragged inside, a compulsive hand slamming me into the wall, the door shutting firmly behind me.

"What in God's name do you think you're doing?" I stared, shocked, into Mr. Sakyo's electric eyes, feeling his hands gripping my shoulders until they bruised. "Anyone could have seen you, you little fool. What were you doing?" He shook me, obviously enraged, causing my teeth to clatter in my head.

I mouthed, trying to get a phrase, a few words, anything to come out, scared of the man before me, and scared of everything that he seemed perfectly capable of doing at that moment. I could feel a coughing spell bubble up, and I doubled over and began choking, that awful restricted feeling closing on my throat. A burning hand pressed against my forehead.

"And you're sick," he snapped. "Explain yourself."

Before I could answer, someone interjected softly, "Sakyo-san, there's no need to treat him so roughly." I turned towards the smooth, thin voice of a woman, and found myself looking at a pretty girl of no more than twenty-four or five, long black hair in ringlets around her face. I couldn't fathom what she was doing in Sakyo's house; and then, seeing the look on his face as it curled almost imperceptibly in disgust, I began to understand.

"This is no concern of yours, Natsuki-san," he said, smoothly formal and cold.

I felt spite bubble up from within me, aided by the dull pain of my shoulders, and asked breathily, "Sakyo-sensei, what's going on? Who is this woman?"

The woman blinked, a confused look on her face. "Sensei?" she asked simply.

Sakyo was looking impassively down at me, his jaw tightening so much that the skin around his scar grew white. So that's what he looks like when he's angry, I thought. Good to know. "You are dismissed, Natsuki." The loss of an honorific was very pointed. "Shuuichi-kun, come in here and explain what you're doing in my home on the morning of a school day."

Sakyo wasn't fooling anyone, nor did he seem like he wished to. But the woman, a suddenly fearful look in her large brown eyes, stuttered out a simple yes and retreated back down the hall, coming down quickly with a bag and a forced expression. As she passed, I noticed a bruise on her wrist as her sleeve rode up, and then she was gone as suddenly as she appeared. I stood in the front hall, my eyes on the radiator, and wondered what was going on.

Hesitantly, I stepped back and removed my shoes, finding Sakyo's house uncomfortably sterile. I had always been in a lustful cloud when I came, lending it a passionate, magical tint, but the décor was strange and new to me at that moment. The radiator sat sleek and white to my left, a heavy coat folded onto it and an umbrella leaned too neatly against its side. The only carpet in this front hall a throw rug that looked oddly homely, completely out-of-place. My eyes skimmed over the generic pictures hung on the walls, and it occurred to me that anyone could live here. There was nothing Sakyo about this place—like the house of a serial killer, devoid of personal touches. I thought of the chamber in his basement, and the bruise on Natsuki's wrist, and for the first time, a very legitimate fear rose inside me.

Pretending to examine the paintings, I followed him into a little carpeted side hall I'd never gone through before, wary, for once, and trying to hide it. Sakyo wasn't talking, hadn't beckoned for me to come, but I followed anyway, somehow knowing what he wanted of me. A swinging door led into a kitchenette, where broad white tile and a table with two chairs awaited me. I glanced around me, my eyes falling on the rack of kitchen knives and then flitting away.

"You shouldn't have come," Sakyo said suddenly, his voice smooth and amused. I realized he was watching me.

"I had nowhere else to go." It was an honest answer.

Sakyo was pouring himself a cup of black coffee, deep in thought, his blue eyes glacial. Turning to me, he said, "I'll lock you in my room. I have a video camera—make me something worth watching and I'll give you a treat later." He smiled, and it chilled me to the bone. Had he always smiled like that? I couldn't remember.

Nervous, I grinned, trying unsuccessfully to play my part of obedient, salacious student. His eyes became more focused as he watched me, his suspicions aroused by my bland attempts to fool him. My heart was thumping in my chest.

"Come," he said shortly, and led me up the stairs.


End file.
